Let's write a book together - right here

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I'll start, then you add some, then somebody else takes a turn, adding bit by bit, and let's see what comes out. It could be fun. Here goes:

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Chapter 1.

The small town was just like every other small town that was just like it. The thing is, there weren’t any other small towns just like it. So this one was different. And that made ordinary life there just a little bit out of the ordinary. Not much, just a little bit. There are some little distinctions like that you have to be able to understand if you’re going to understand the story of this town, of GreenHills. Yes, GreenHills-- with two caps and no space in between. See what I mean? Just a little out of the ordinary.

Here’s another distinction. While the town was a small but not quite ordinary town, the people that lived in it were more or less ordinary. I mean they don’t have laser vision powers, or all drive little electric cars with matching purple bumper stickers or anything out of the ordinary like that. But even though they are “ordinary” they really aren’t what you’d call “normal”. The people living in GreenHills are clearly, plainly and indisputably quite odd. Every last one of them.

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[Okay, who’s gonna write the next little bit?]

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Well, before we get too far into the story, maybe I'd better clear something up. There was a rumor that one of the residents actually did have laser vision. Nobody saw him very much. He tended to stay in the basement of his Uncle's house. People were pretty much glad of that. He had beady, bright red eyes. Lots of people look like that in photographs, but he looked like that in real life. That's why the kids in the neighborhood thought he had laser vision. Some of the adults in town thought it was just the result of too much time in a dark, dank, dungeon of a basement, staring at a computer screen. Others thought it came from too many dinners of chipmunk meat. There were lots of rumors, lots of theories. The only thing everyone could agree on was that Edge was a freaky kind of character.

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For many, "freaky" didn't go near far enough. A typical conversation around the neighborhood bar, at least the one in the bowling alley, ran something like the one down there last Tuesday.

"Freaky?" said Nutter, responding to a conversation further down the bar. "Freaky ain't the half of it. I think he's the one that did it. I think he's guilty as hell."

"C'mon!" shouted Byrl. At least if you didn't know Byrl you'd think he was shouting. But he was just talking. "C'mon! What are you talking about? The guy doesn't even exist. He's make believe, like the boogey man!"

"Did what?" from down at the other end of the bar, "Guilty of what?"

"Well, I don't know," Nutter admitted. "Guilty of whatever it is that changed everything around here. Maybe he did something on that danged computer that is messing with everybody's heads. Maybe he plugged the Ouija Board into the light socket. Maybe he killed too many chipmunks and threw the world out of balance. I don't know. But something happened, and I think he did it."

That's when they heard it. And then, when they walked out the side door, which for the first time in a long time offered a view, long and clear, they saw it. And they saw the truck that did it. But none of them saw who was driving the truck as it careened out of the parking lot and around the corner, a few aluminum poles and stretches of fence still clanging and bouncing along behind, tangled in the chain and rope off the bumper hitch.

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The next day Jeffy was in the driveway looking at his banged up truck and wondering how that happened and why this kind of stuff always happened to him.

He opened the door, leaned in and checked himself out in the rearview mirror. He did that a lot. Jeffy thought he was good looking. And if you were a woman that was 3 foot 7, slightly balding except for that thick mat of black hair that covered your back, had six toes on your left foot, and had had an eighteen month long run of bad luck, you might agree with him.

But, back to the story. He looked into the rear view mirror and noticed Twinkie the Kid behind him. Jeffy, was shocked that someone actually showed up to visit him because he was so grotesque.

A maiden cried out, "I'm Illona and I need a man!" Coming from afar, a man on a horse with a cig burnin', thumped across the land. He rushed towards her on a black stallion, bare back. Her heart pounded as she saw her man nearing her. The smell of to-baccy wrenched throughout the fog-driven land. He passed her up shouting, "D'yares a beer club in five minutes. Sorry, Lassie! Gots to go!"

She tore off her Ssex Pistols shirt hoping that another manly man would sweep her up off her feet. A man in a pedal car - no taller than a gnome (pert near) came a bikin' up. "You wanna come over to my house, sugar-svence?"

Tha lady climbed aboard the shuttle on Ingram and...

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...and all the while, poor Jeffy was just standing there, watching it all happen and feeling very dazed and confused. When he felt this way, which was often, it always gave him comfort to recall that was wearing his Roger Bacon Spartan underwear. He had 16 pairs: 7 boxers, 7 briefs, and 2 thongs, for those days when he needed to feel extra special.

But the pedal-powered idiot mobile, having pased him by, like so much of the world always seemed to do, kept cruising up Ingram with its gnome-like driver and new passenger, when suddenly...

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... out of the bushes jumps none other than that world class arborist known to many in the small, ordinary town as "Radar Waltz ". He seemed in a daze, his red eyes gleaming, and stumbled a bit as he approached the eedjit-mobile while waving his 4 foot long flashlight around, searching for retinal contact.

"Pullitoverbushter", said Waltz, wiping a white powdery substance from his nasal area as he did so. He reached for his...

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chesseburger and said "y'all don't mind if I ketck a bite here duz ya? Lunch breaks were not an option as Radar Waltz was collecting frequent menace miles. He was just 853 misdemeanors away from his most coveted prize,

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throw his wife a birthday party at Riley's. The party lasted 2 1/2 hours. little did the guests know that walt had discretely snuck out and chalked the tires of all their cars and wrote them tickets for staying too long in the 2 hour zone.

"young lady, where is your shirt?" he asked Illona.

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"The 'girls' just needed some air" Ms Ilona giggled as she pulled on a Social Distortion tiny T. "Don'tcha love ironic band names?" Suddenly she grabbed Radar by the lapels, got straight in his grill and calmly said: "Now listen up Walz, we need your help. We intend to pay a visit to the Village Idiot, Mrs Chalmers, tonight. Help us defeat her or I will splash you're shaninigans all over the GH Gazette...... if we publish again!"

"Woa now," said Waltz "I'm not going anywhere near that old bat without a lawyer!"

Just then, out of the darkness, "Did shumbody (hic) call fer a loyer?" hollered a disheveled UB-43, an ordinary local, who had been laying unseen along the sidewalk. UB had apparently "stopped to rest" on his way home from a local watering hole. He was a square-jawed fellow of avg height, stocky athletic build, and a beautiful full head of lovely greying hair.

Claiming yet a again to be a lawyer, UB jumped in the idiot mobile with a hearty "O-H!"

The others were leary of UB-43 joining them, but there was nothing anybody could do to stop him. Besides he had started singing inanities to his poor sainted wife (local heroine), and now threatened to continue the brutal auditory assault unless he was included.

So in answer to himself, to no surprise, UB hollered out "I-O!" and the motley crew crept off. Boy, was the gnome pissed, "friggin' lawyers" he muttered, peddling his ass off!

Ilona stripped bare again and began rummaging for her "Southern Culture on the Skids" shirt.

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"plan?" she responded, "we don't have much of a plan. More like a goal". They all knew they were incapable of slaying this dragon, but they knew who could. He had an encounter with Ms. Chalmers once before and lived to tell about it.

Cary hopped aboard as the idiot-mobile continued down Japonica to Junedale where they took a left.

It was friday, so they knew Edge might be emerging from the cellar to restock his beer supply for the weekend......

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When they pulled up to Edge's crib they were not surprised by all of the commotion. Uncle, Beerbob, Kovu, and old neighbor Phro were throwing cornhole and drinking what appeared to be Negra Modelo which he assumed Beerbob supplied due to his superior taste in malty beverages.

Cary being of the "bum" type asked double B for a Modelo however BB had given his last one to Edge down in the basement. Spoondogg was coolin on the couch and gave up one of his last C45 40's and Cary wrapped it up with a skirt and took it outside. After chugging the 40 Cary talked the fellas into going over to Chalmers and visiting w/uknowwho, they piled in the flintstone mobile and peddled as the tires became all wheel. When they arrived at the destination they were greeted by a...

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"UB you idiot" hissed Judster who had been hunkered down hiding behind one of the many lawn signs, "she was askin' a question, not issuing an order!"

"Oh," said BB, "they've brought their dogs to have them pee on the front yard shirt. Good idea."

UB, who had only heard the first word BB said, yelled loudly, "Aitch" then collapsed, giggling.

Two red beams started drawing wavy, curvy lines on the side of the house. They all turned to look at Edge, whose beady red eyes were glowing as bright as Mama's hopes at the beginning of another Muskie hoop season.

"Well I'll be doggone," purred Illona, peeling out of yet another top and wondering if this was the right situation for her pale yellow spaghetti strapped Cramps teddy, "he does have laser vision powers." She was...curious.

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But Edge was not to be distracted. He held his head steady and stared straight ahead. The lights stopped winding along side of the house and became still. Two red dots of light expanded, becoming brighter, more intense. That's when a window flew open, and to their collective horror...

Now just south of the 'Hills was a strange ole gal named Sue. She wasn't sure what side of all the calamities and goins' on in the north sector of town she was on. She poured a Margarita from an ice cold blender that her Mama had made and chilled out in her pond.

She said, "Mama what ya think about all the calamity goins' on in the village?"

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"Well, there's something new out by that local reporter, trying his hand at fiction. I couldn't read it. It was terrible. He can kill a story line faster than a school levy activist can yell, 'Group Hug!' "